


Curtain Call

by autumnlynn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Incest, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-20
Updated: 2012-12-01
Packaged: 2017-11-19 02:28:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/568034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autumnlynn/pseuds/autumnlynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When dark desires come to light behind the curtain, the stage is set for surreal sensual drama most deviant...and defiant!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rehearsals

**Author's Note:**

> Co-written with the wonderful Mrs. Milfoy. Many thanks to Insights for all of her help. Also posted on fanfiction.net.

If there was one thing in life that Draco Malfoy absolutely abhorred it was social events. Balls, galas, banquets, charity events, weddings, funerals, and any other sort of wizarding gathering that made him stand around in an uncomfortable, frilly suit while being completely bored out of his mind. The only person who ever made the events at least semi-interesting was Blaise who just happened to schedule an Italian holiday the same week as the Ministry’s “Post War Something or Another Fundraiser” which Narcissa had ever so gracefully agreed to host at the manor.

“It will help clear our name,” she said, looking over her teacup a few weeks ago while Draco inadvertently crushed a crumpet between his fingers. 

“Draco, are you evening listening?”

Fuck. “Yes, of course!” he replied to the witch who was currently kissing his arse. He couldn’t even remember her name let alone what she was going on about. As soon as he could get this one to leave, another one would somehow manage to corner him and the whole torturous process would start all over again. It didn’t matter he still had a faded Dark Mark on his arm. He was a Malfoy and heir to not only the Malfoy fortune but the Black fortune as well, which made him something of a magnet to all the single, gold-digging witches, most of whom looked rather unfortunate.

As of late, Lucius had been dropping hints via owl post from Azkaban that he should get engaged and the hints were becoming less and less subtle. He probably assumed his son was a closet gay who was trying to put off his wedding night as far into the future as possible. 

Suddenly, Draco felt himself being pulled onto the dance floor. ‘Shit!’ he thought as the smug, young witch he had been talking to placed her hand on his shoulder. How had he managed to agree to a dance? Out of habit he took her free hand and placed the other on her waist and began to move as the music began. He recognized the tune. It was his favourite. Not because the music was any good - in fact, it was an absolute crap song - but, because it was short. 

He looked over at his mother as he mechanically waltzed around the floor. The song was far longer than he had remembered. Her eyes were completely glazed over as some mindless fuckwit was babbling to her about Merlin knows what. ‘Look at her’ he thought ‘playing the perfect war hero’. He continued to stare at her over his dancing partner’s shoulder. The wizard she was listening to wasn’t even looking at her face although Draco really couldn’t blame him. She was always the definition of a perfect pureblood woman. A tight corset top to her dress pushed her tits up to the top of her diamond necklace had him staring as well. A fleeting thought of ripping the dress off of her passed through his mind. 

As the waltz ended he saw his mother leave the ballroom. No sooner had the quartet finished the last note of the song, Draco promptly excused himself and left the ballroom in search of her. He could hear the click of her heels echoing softly up one of the lesser used staircases followed by the gentle swoosh of a curtain.

He hurried down the corridor and up the stairs after her, his shoes slipping a bit on the well-polished marble floors. One flight. Two flights. Where the flying mandrake did she think she was going? Leaving him to play host? He would drag her back to the stupid thing if he had to. After all, it was her fault they were hosting the fucking thing in the first place.

Narcissa wouldn’t admit to her son that she abhorred these pretentious gatherings as much as he did. But she did. Hated them with a passion.

Oh, she adored dressing up; buying new frocks and matching shoes, deciding how to wear her hair, accessorising and glamourising. But the events themselves became little more than excuses to do these things. And now with Lucius away, she felt less galvanised to be beautiful. She preferred moping about the manor, reading depressing books and reflecting on her loneliness.

Not that she’d ever really considered Lucius company, per se. But he had been a husband, at least. He’d sometimes told relatively amusing anecdotes, more often than not complemented her rare baking and _always_ bought her ridiculously expensive baubles. And she supposed he’d made a passing fair bed warmer.

Gods, how long had it been since... She shook her head. Best to not dwell on that question. She had enough problems recently with a disturbing self-awareness; she didn’t need to add lack of sexual contact to the list. Just the other day, she’d leaned over the sink to find a dropped hairpin and noticed a pair of tiny lines at the corner of each eye. She’d wept for nearly four hours, and when Draco asked what was wrong, she’d broken down even further.

_Stupid to be upset. Could be worse. The Parkinson woman looks like a dried shrivel fig._ She ducked behind a thick black velvet curtain. The heavy tapestry was a bit of Malfoy secrecy: charmed to allow for spying. So Narcissa could see all the commotion connected with her gathering, without being accosted at every turn by desperate old wizards waiting for her to divorce or become a widow.

And right now, she wanted to spy on her son. 

She’d caught sight of him dancing with a few young witches, and a certain conflict had fired in her heart. It was time for this - for him to take an interest. She knew romance had been on hold for her son during his last few years. Jumping at the Dark Lord’s every fart had an unfortunate affect on one’s libido. (And Lucius could attest to that fact.) So she’d been pleased to see him turning about the floor with Pansy Parkinson and the Greengrass girls. That other girl, the one with the nose and the face - well, Narcissa wasn’t exactly sure about her. But it was hardly a mother’s place to judge what her son found attractive.

And she _was_ pleased, wasn’t she? Surely it was excitement that made her gut clench so; excitement at the prospects of helping him plan a wedding, watching him make a life of his own, knitting baby booties and bouncing a grandchild on her arthritic knee.

Right?

Wasn’t it pride that made her notice the way they stared at him? Well, of course they wanted an ounce of the Malfoy/Black fortune. Everyone wanted _that_. But there was no denying Draco was as lovely to look at as his father had once been; back when Narcissa had been ripe as a summer peach and barely able to keep her hands off of Lucius for one second of the night. 

Or day. 

Any time, really. She’d always been rather randy... Unfortunately that hadn’t changed with age. _If anything, it’s gotten worse_. She scowled at her own luck and scanned the crowd below. No sign of her son’s princely visage. She focused on heads, but no white-blonde corn silk caught her eye. She frowned. Perhaps he’d taken some air. Perhaps he was walking at that very moment in her gorgeous moonlit gardens with one of those young witches staring dreamily into his steely silver eyes...

And that was happiness that pricked tears to her eyes, right? Happiness for her son? Happiness that he was discovering young love in all its wonders and horrors? _Goddess help the scrawny little bitch if she hurts him. I’ll have her eyes for earrings_.

It couldn’t be resentment, after all; resentment that while her precious son snogged some ungrateful little money-grubber, she would be staring alone at the dusty bed canopy, debating whether or not masturbation was worth the effort. Nor could it be jealousy; jealousy that some willowy, young witch would have her eager fingers in her prince’s trousers, while the prince’s mother could only reflect on the sickness in her old, queenly heart.  
And it was a sickness. An old Black family curse, she supposed - to want one’s family so lasciviously. So she and Bella had practiced kissing as girls, and practiced even more as teenagers. So her first proper boy kiss (not to mention her first tripping encounters with the masculine sex organ) had been with handsome cousin Regulus. She didn’t fool herself into believing that any of these things were _wholesome_ or _right_.

And it was even more retrograde to lust after one’s own offspring. To imagine the babe you once held to your breast in nursing being held to your breast in passion... _Sickening_. 

She bit her lips and clenched her eyes shut against those thoughts. _Let him find a girl and move on and settle down. Get him away from me..._ Her prayer rose to the goddess, she opened her eyes and surveyed the crowd again, pursing her lips in frustration when there was still no sign of her son. 

_Dammit, Draco... Where are you?_ Thoughts of her son’s flaxen hair and silver eyes burned at the base of her brain, creating a sudden certain inescapable need. She rubbed shaky hands over her delicate pooch of a belly, curved her fingers just a hint lower. _Couldn’t hurt... No one can see me... And perhaps he’ll come back_. 

The thought of watching her son dance while she worked herself to orgasm was decadently devious. Decision made, she leaned back against the cool stonewall and hiked a few yards of gauzy black tulle over her thighs. The soft lace that met her fingertips slipped with ease over her hips. She shimmied out of the knickers and kicked them to the side. 

A quick glance showed still no Draco, so she abandoned herself to a moment of fantasy, tilted her head to the wall and closed her eyes. Past soft trimmed down she found hot wet pleasure. She bit back a moan and flicked her swollen clit with an impatient wrist. This would need to be quick. Otherwise, guests may become addled. Poor dears...they needed such coddling.

Imagining Draco’s diligent mouth, she stroked her swollen folds. She was wet as a mermaid, and wondered if she might not be abandoning knickers all together after this. Her free hand curled around the thick diamond dangling from her neck. Its coolness was a bastion of sense. She hazarded a bleary slit-eyed glimpse at the dance floor. Still no Draco.

A groan of frustration. She shifted her leg, pressed her right heel into the wall for some support. She curled the fingers currently plumbing her tight depths. Just a little further... Her palm rubbed at her clit and she knew she was close. The coil tightened in her tummy, threatened to spring soon. Stickiness pooled against her thighs.

So close...

“What the hell are you doing hidden away back here?”

She hastily removed her hand from her dress, clamped her hands over the cry that lurched embarrassingly from her throat and spun toward the intruder. “Draco!” She hissed loudly. Her hand traveled to her heart. It was beating like a rabbit’s. “What are _you_ doing hidden away back here?”

Narcissa smoothed the fabric of her dress, not quite meeting his eyes as she attempted to wipe her sticky fingers discreetly on the fabric. She could see a look of skepticism on his face, looking as if he wanted to ask her something but was hesitant. “I--” she started, breaking the awkward silence between them. “I,” she started again, “was just taking a break from the fundraiser. Wanted to just...observe,” she finished lamely.  
“And what the hell did I just observe,” thought Draco, letting the silence come between them again. Even in the dim lighting he could tell she was flushed and nervous. If he hadn’t known any better he would have thought she had been getting herself off. The thought made him hard. He couldn’t count the times he had gotten off while thinking about her. 

He could almost write a book with all the different scenarios had had imagined. All the different positions which he had mentally fucked her. He only knew her to be prim and proper but in his mind she was a complete whore who let him do whatever he pleased to her. In his fantasies he didn’t see her as his mum, but as his lover. He was a sick man; he knew that. He had fantasised about her for so long he really didn’t care anymore. It’s not like she, nor anyone else, would ever know.

“Well you’re ‘observing’ has left me as host to this stupid thing,” he finally said, glancing around the room. He spotted something in the corner. Draco took a step closer to the mysterious object, trying to figure out what it was. 

“Are those?” Draco started to say. Narcissa’s eyes widened as she realised what Draco saw. She quickly grabbed them before he had a chance to figure out what they were. Or so she thought.

Before either one of them could say anything, they heard footsteps echoing out in the hall. “Narcissa?” an obnoxious sounding voice called out.

“Shit! It’s Richard. How did he even know I was here?” whispered Narcissa loudly. She stuffed the mysterious object down the top of her dress and walked out into the corridor, leaving Draco alone.

“Richard? That fuckwit who had been chatting her up in the ballroom?” Draco ran his hand through his hair. Of all the people to possibly interrupt them it had to be Richard Woodcock. Bloody gnome bowling sports writer for the Prophet. Didn’t he know it was horribly rude to wander around other people’s manors?

“More importantly,” he thought, “what in the world were my mum’s knickers doing lying in the middle of the floor?” Draco could almost feel the candle being lit above his head. It was all too obvious now. He had been right. She _had_ been getting herself off and he had walked in right in the middle of it! “Too bad I couldn’t have helped her,” he mused. He waited, listened to the muffled conversation taking place a few feet away.

Narcissa barely had time to collect herself before darting out from her hiding place. Sure enough, Richard bloody Woodcock waited at the top of the stairs. “Oh, there you are!” He smiled widely. The tips of his giant ears nearly wiggled.

Narcissa forced a smile. “Yes! Sorry. I stepped away to the...I needed to...get some...I needed the loo!” _I sound like I’ve been imperiused_.

“Well, no matter,” Richard forgave grandiosely. “I was hoping to collect that final dance before I leave for the evening.”

“Dance?” She thought of her son behind the curtain, of her knickers between her breasts and the questions inherent in both of her previous thoughts. She absolutely could not have another dance with Richard Woodcock. “Actually,” she hedged. “I’m afraid I’m feeling rather...ill. I believe I shall...return to the loo.”

If Richard were half a wizard, he would take a bloody hint and bugger off. It certainly wasn’t acceptable to further inquire about the bowel complaints of a lady.

And it seemed that Richard was indeed (at least) half a wizard. He bowed over-deeply. “Dear me. I do hope you recover quickly, Madam. It shall do no good for your guests to miss the bounteous beauty of your presence.”

_Seriously?_ But she smiled with grace. “How kind. If you’ll excuse me?”

So Richard backed away with murmured apologies and further well-wishes. He even nearly (what a pity) tripped to his death down the steep stairs. 

Once he was out of sight, Narcissa released the breath she’d been holding. She fussed at her bottom lip, wondering exactly what she was about to say to her son. Truth was right out of the question. _Yes, Draco. Those **are** my knickers. I shed them hastily when I was thinking about having immoral, incestuous relations with you._

Absolutely out of the question. She touched nervous fingers to her temple. _I have to tell him something..._ Her spider-brain began weaving a sensual silken web of protective deceit when an arm back behind the charmed curtain suddenly pulled her. 

She yelped and Draco faced her with determination on his brow. “Mother?”

“What?”

He gestured to her bodice. “Are those your knickers?”

“No?”

“No?”

“No.” She swallowed and shook her head.

He sighed, frustrated. “Then who was up here in no knickers, I wonder? Because most of the ladies I’ve encountered tonight have not left the ground floor of our home.”

“Witches can be very sneaky.” Narcissa assured.

“Mother.” He reached toward her. 

She stepped back. “What, son?” When his fingers neared her bodice, she slapped them away. “Stop it. What do you want?”

He backed her against the wall. “Let me see,” he said.

“Absolutely not.” 

But her boy wasn’t taking no for an answer. His hands tussled briefly with hers, tried to ignore the swell of her panting chest as he fought for entry beneath her bodice. When he finally succeeded in breaching her defenses, his face was mere inches from hers, and hers was turned away. He saw the bright blush on her cheek, and felt lace beneath his fingertips.

Slowly, almost tortuously, he withdrew the slip of lingerie. She still didn’t look at him. “If I reach beneath this dress, Narcissa...will I find _your_ knickers?”

Her head whipped and her eyes blazed at him. The sound of her given name on his lips had been...indescribable. “You wouldn’t dare! I’m your mother!”

“I know.” He lunged, shocking her into brief paralysis. His right hand held her arms above her head while his left rucked up her skirt with a sound of shuffling tulle.

“Draco!” She couldn’t - wouldn’t - scream. It would ruin the party! But she spat at him like an angry snake. “Don’t do this!” But it was too late. His hand had found the incriminating bare flesh of her hip.

“Bloody hell,” he murmured. The hand shifted and his knee slipped between her legs. He boldly stroked the wet cleft at her apex. “You lied to me,” he whispered directly against the shell of her ear and bought her stiff arms down. She’d stopped struggling. He pressed her fingers to his lips, kissing and finally licking. “Gods above. Is that what you taste like?”

“Draco!” The exclamation was strangled at best. He smothered further words with his mouth on hers. Pushing and clawing at his shoulders evolved into grasping and clinging to his shoulders. Whimpers of protest became mewls of pleasure and desire.

Narcissa’s head swelled and swam. I’m kissing my son. _Oh, goddess, I’m kissing my **son**!_ And she couldn’t seem to stop. Even when his tongue snaked into her mouth with a paradoxical uncertainty that should have clued her in to his own internal conflicts, she found herself thrusting shamelessly against his hardness like a harlot.

And he was actually hard? Her son hard for her? It couldn’t be. Surely Draco hadn’t inherited those same insidious genes - the Black family curse of lust. Or was it in the Malfoy blood as well? She’d never asked Lucius, but now she thought of it, her husband had always seemed rather over-eager to please his own mother...

Draco’s hands curled over her buttocks, squeezing firmly through the layers of sheer material and she broke the kiss. She needed air and to gasp, to gather her wits and his. Oh, but it felt so good to be wanted, to be touched like that. “Draco...” She slurred drunkenly as he bent to nuzzle her cleavage.

“Narcissa.”

“We can’t...” But her head lolled and her tongue stopped when he nudged a breast from within her bodice, laving and suckling at the hardened nipple. “Oh!” She couldn’t hide the evidence of her desire.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, nudging at the other breast. 

And how long had it been since she’d heard those words - let alone on a breath of such lust? She buried her fingers in his lengthening silky hair. “You too, love,” she whispered, kissing him. 

He’d melted her defenses, it seemed. Her ice fort was no more. She was vaguely aware his hands were now fussing at her skirts again, rustling them impatiently up and over her thighs. The chill that hit her fevered skin brought her a momentary sensibility. _The bloody guests! What if another Richard Woodcock comes looking?_ “Draco, don’t.” She pushed ineffectually at his demanding hands.

“I can’t stop,” he replied.

“Not here! Not now!” She took his face in a firm hand, made him meet her eyes in the shadow. The glaze of pure desire in them was dizzying. “Stop for now.”

“Now?” He seemed drunk, himself; perhaps on the same concoction of want she seemed to have imbibed. 

“Yes, now.” She gave him a gentle kiss. “We _must_ get back to the party.”

He groaned and dropped his head into her shoulder. “No.”

“Yes.” His petulance momentarily reminded her of his five-year old incarnation. Strange, that... “And I think perhaps we should talk later.”

“Talk.” He was kissing her neck, sucking on her pulse.

Goosebumps broke over her entire body and she shoved him away gracelessly, knowing if she didn’t - she wouldn’t. Her hand shot out against his chest, steadying him and restraining him. “We are going to compose ourselves as Malfoy’s now. We are going to make nice with our guests and see them out as proper hosts. Then we shall retire to our private chambers and...discuss this situation.”

He was breathing deeply, calming. Devouring her with his eyes. Nodding. She could tell he was paying attention. 

“Alright?” She asked, touching at her mussed hair.

He swallowed, nodded again.

“Draco. I need you to speak. I need to know your thoughts.”

He tilted his chin up and flicked his cuffs. Straightened his suit jacket and his back. Then he leaned into her space yet again, brushed his lips just over her ear til his nose flicked her diamond earring. “I’m going to fuck your brains out tonight.”

And the curtain swished and he was gone, leaving Narcissa impossibly aroused and uncomfortably wet. She glanced down at the knickers he’d dropped, considered putting them on. It seemed rather unnecessary, really. So she shrugged, plastered on her prim hostess smile, and stepped through the curtains herself.

Draco turned left as he exited the curtains and walked down the hallway towards the manor’s main staircase. He glanced down at the party through the marble archways that lined the corridor. No one seemed to notice they’d gone. Certain he’d be surrounded by his unofficial fan club of single unfortunates, he slowed his pace as he turned another corner.

He considered going back to his chambers and getting himself off. It wouldn’t be difficult. No, not after she had nearly driven him to the edge. He would wait and make her feel just how tormented he had been. So close and then she decided the fundraiser was too important. That they needed to ‘talk’. Since when did Malfoys talk? Money would have taken care of this. No fundraiser, no talking. Just incestual copulating. 

Narcissa watched her son stew quietly for the remainder of the evening. The guests had begun to trickle out around nine, and Draco was happily seeing them to the door. She hadn’t requested this - just knew that he was truly enjoying the fact they were leaving.

Every once in a while, he looked up to catch her eye and gave her a bit of a smug grin. And whatever that meant, she wasn’t sure she liked the implication. 

She rolled her eyes at the scenes he made in bidding his giggling would-be suitors good-night, knowing the overblown knuckle-kissing and flirtatious promises of luncheons were all for her benefit. _Well fine...two can play that game_. She purred good evening wishes to the Minister of Magic, and gave Richard Woodcock her sultriest demure bow, knowing she treated him to a rare glimpse of her décolletage.

When she caught her sons eye again, his look said: “Well played, mother. Well played.”

But then the last guest was gone, the torches along the walkway extinguished, and naught but the two of them in the echoing foyer. She could have heard a pin drop, were it not for the volumes spoken by her son’s burning gaze.

“Lovely evening,” she sighed.

Draco, however, could give a tinker’s damn for the evening. He had a bit of a one-track mind at the moment. “Your chambers or mine, mother?”

She blinked. The nervousness crept back into her chest. “I believe perhaps the drawing room might be more appropriate for conversing, son.”

“Right. Conversing.” He scowled and gestured grandly for her to precede him down the corridor. “By all means. To the drawing room, then.”

She could feel his eyes on her as she led them there, praying to the goddess for strength and resistance...


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When dark desires come to light behind the curtain, the stage is set for surreal sensual drama most deviant...and defiant!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Co-written with the wonderful Mrs. Milfoy. Many thanks to Insights for all of her help. Also posted on fanfiction.net.

 Narcissa walked into the drawing room, her heart beating quickly as she sat down on one of the many ornate couches that adorned the room. What was she supposed to say to him? It had been her idea to ‘talk’ and here she was without a word. “How does one start a conversation with their son about this?” she thought as Draco sat himself in one of the chairs opposite from her.

“Draco, I -” she started, looking across at him, not quite meeting his eyes.

“Draco you what?” he said, interrupting her. “You regret kissing me?” He asked.

Narcissa shook her head, glad one of them had found words.

“Then what? You regret me walking in on you touching yourself when you should have been perfect little hostess?” Draco stood up and walked around the coffee table that was separating them and stood in front of her. “Or maybe,” he said, “you regret me putting my hand up your dress and running my fingers over your cunt?” There was a tense moment of silence before he continued, “Tell me, _Mum_. Is that what you wanted to talk about?”

“Yes,” Narcissa whispered, looking up at him. She felt his hand on the side of her face and saw him leaning down. She pulled away from him and stood up, turning to face him. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “No, we can’t do this, Draco”.

Draco raised an eyebrow. “And why not?” He asked, crossing his arms over his chest. Since when did women start rejecting him? Especially one who had been so eager to have his tongue in her mouth and his hand up her dress only hours ago.

“For the obvious reason,” she retorted.

He rolled his eyes. “What reason? The fact you are technically my mother, Narcissa?” She nodded. “That didn’t seem to bother you a few hours ago,” he continued.

“I--” she swallowed. “No, no it didn’t. That’s the problem. It should have.”  
  
“But it didn’t.”

“No.” She paused, pressing her lips together.

“Why?”

“Draco... This can’t seem _normal_ to you. Or right.” She spread her hands in a gesture of ‘please, see reason.’ “I’m your mum. Aren’t I? You can’t be attracted to me that way.” She blinked swiftly. “Can you?”

“And you can’t be attracted to _me_.” Draco said, squinting at her suspiciously. “Can you?”

She sighed, frustrated that their ‘conversation’ seemed to be going in circles.

“Who were you thinking about?” He demanded quietly. He was still too close...

“What?”

“You heard me. Who were you thinking about while you fucked yourself behind that curtain tonight?”

She blushed hotly, knew he could see it. She moved away from him and dropped onto a chaise lounge. He followed. “Draco -”

“That’s what I thought,” he interrupted smoothly. His cool fingers stroked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I _am_ attracted to you, mother. Do I know it’s wrong?” He shrugged. “In the eyes of some, I suppose it is. Does that make the urge to put myself back inside you the only way I know how any less?” Another shrug. “I’m afraid not.”

She took a deep breath at the image his words had caused and turned away to gaze out the window. The stars were beautiful tonight...

“Mother?” His fingers were stroking her bare shoulders and back leisurely.

She shrugged him away. “Stop that.”

He chuckled. It shouldn’t have been sexy. “Why? D’you like it?”

“No,” she lied. Her gooseflesh betrayed the sentiment.

“Kiss me again.”

“No!”

“Just a kiss. What can it hurt?” His fingers curled around her shoulder, urging her closer.

She jerked away. “I said no! This isn’t talking, Draco. It’s coercion. And it shall get you nowhere.”

He sighed and stood. “I’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this, Narcissa.” Her eyes were a tiny bit afraid when she looked up at him. He was calmly unbuttoning his cuffs. He set the links on a little side table, turned away from her as he shrugged out of his suit jacket.

“What are you doing?” She asked nervously.

His black silken tie hit the floor, followed by his dress shirt. He cast her a shadowed glance over one shoulder - the muscles of that shoulder tightening as he worked his trousers. “I think I’m going to rape you.”

She scoffed, but shifted uncomfortably on the lounge. “Don’t be ridiculous. I won’t let you.”

“That’s rather the point of rape, I think.” He turned to her, and she went a bit faint at the sight of the impressive erection pointing accusingly at her.

“Don’t be foolish.” He started toward her, and she scrambled to the edge of the chaise. “Draco!” She raised her hand, pointing at him. “You - you stop right there! This has gone far enough!”

“Take off your dress, Narcissa.” He approached coolly, watching her climb the lounge until she crouched upon it.

“You’re insane!” He reached for her, and she swatted at his hands, bracing with one arm against the chair back.

“And you’re desperate.” He managed to get a grip on one of her arms, then snagged the other when she attempted to use it against him.

“Draco,” she whimpered.

“You’re gonna love this, mum. I promise.” He wrenched her upward, tugged her against his chest till the elaborate embroidery on her dress threatened to tattoo his skin. He smothered her gasp with his mouth, and she began to fold.

Her hands were like butterflies at first, fluttering at his arms and shoulders as if she were afraid he wasn’t real. He encouraged her responses with soothing, firm touches to her back and shoulders, felt her relaxing into their deepening kiss. She moaned, and he found the hooks and eyes back of her bodice. With each one he flicked open, she pressed a little closer to him.

When he was finally peeling it from her form, he attacked her neck with tongue and teeth. “Dracodracodraco,” she breathed. “This is wrong, so wrong.”

“Does it feel good?”

“Yesssss,” she hissed when he latched onto a nipple, nipping and sucking hard.

He boosted her up and back on the lounge, kneeling between her thighs with a knee buried in yards of rich soft tulle. The position, however awkward, gave him glorious access to her tits and the freedom to work his hands beneath the layers of skirt. She was wetter than when he’d left her, and he smiled into her cleavage. “Let’s get this off, then.”

She helped blearily, seeming slightly drunk as she wrestled the stubborn skirt over her hips. No sooner was she naked than Draco turned her, laid her on the chaise and raked his eyes over her body. “How could you think I wouldn’t want this?” He ran a finger from her clavicle, betwixt her heaving breasts and over her lurching belly. She arched when he teased her clit. “Every wizard wants this.”

“Oh, Draco.” Her hands slid up his questing arm. “Please...”

“Please what?” The finger swirled in her slit, threatened to dip in, but pulled out again.

“Argh! Please...take me,” she gasped.

He thrust the finger in suddenly, watching her body convulse. “D’you want me to fuck you, Narcissa?”

“Yes!”

“With my cock?”

“Yes!” She was shouting, abandoned to the burning delight of his finger stroking in her tightness.

“Tell me to.” His face was a mask of intense desire and quivering restraint, nostrils flaring at the musky smell of her.

“Please...fuck me, Draco!”

He smirked. “Not just yet.” Roughly, he thrust her leg over the back of the chaise. It crooked easily, and Draco was thrilled she was as agile as he’d imagined. He licked his lips at her surprised cry and dipped fast to her cunt.

The floor was hard and cold beneath his knees, but his mother’s pussy was hot and soft as he licked at it. And she wasn’t the frigid witch she tried to be. No, she bucked and growled like a wildcat, rubbed and squeezed her breasts in time with his oral attentions.

Draco reveled in her every reaction. He wasn’t shy in his approach. He parted her slick inner lips with his fingers and reached his tongue as far as he could inside her, tasted the metallic heat of her. When he flicked at her clit, he fucked her with one or sometimes two fingers. Her thighs quaked alongside his head, and when one of her hands found his hair, he moaned into her wetness.

His cock ached and strained. Judging she was more than ready, he climbed back onto the chaise between her lewd spread. She was goddesslike then, rising on one elbow to peer at him between thin-slit black eyes, sweat glistening on her skin like the diamonds still choking her graceful neck. Draco stroked up the inside of her thighs as he climbed her. “I’ve fantasized about this moment so many times, Cissa. Have you?”

She mewled as he arranged his cock at her dripping source. “Yes,” she managed.

He was slow entering her, staring at her face and absorbing her every expression. He watched as her eyes opened wide as if she was surprised and then quickly shut as she moaned his name and fell back onto the couch. Gods she was tight. Delicious. Perfect. Much more than he had ever fantasized.

Narcissa gripped Draco’s forearms as he pushed himself deeper into her. He held her hips, pulling her closer to him, moving in and out of her wet cunt. “Gods, Cissa,” he whispered. “You are so --” He couldn’t finish the sentence. He leaned down over her, biting at her neck as she wrapped her legs tightly around his waist.

Her moans turned to short gasps as he continued fucking her. Narcissa dug her nails into her son’s back as she came on his cock. “You’re so beautiful when you come, Cissa.” She heard him whisper. “Mmmh,” was all she could respond as he changed their position. He put one of her legs over his shoulder and continued to fucked her. She raised her arms over her head and pushed against the back of the couch for support. Draco looked down at his mother, watching his cock slide in and out of her, loving the look on her face as their hips collided, and how her breasts moved with each thrust.

“I’m too close,” he whinged helplessly - almost angry at the pleasurable build in his balls. “Can I come in you?”

“Can you...” Narcissa murmured. She could hardly think at the moment, mind nearly obliterated by the release that had earlier devoured her reason. When had she last taken the potion? Without regular sex in her life (and that had been the case for quite some time), she’d had little cause to keep up with the birth control brew. But she _had_  taken it... Hadn’t she? Just a few weeks ago?

“Fuck! Think fast, witch. Please.” Her lover growled, shifted his angle and a new stab of pleasure rocked her.

“Gods! Draco! I don’t... Yes!” She could deal with the calculations later. She was a witch, after all.

And the wizard fucking her must have felt her body’s new tension - the reaction to his new abandonment or his own impending little death - because he stretched fully atop her, brought them as close as possible and pounded his hips against hers. She screamed at the fiery arc of electricity in her abdomen - the pleasure hex constricting her spine.

“Do it again, mum,” he gasped in her ear. “Come for me. Let me feel that magic in you.”

She was vaguely aware that the lounge was moving with each thrust of his snapping hips. But she was more than aware her body seemed attuned to every inch, ridge and vein of his cock battering her sense. She surrendered, dropped her arms over his shoulders and folded into his desperate embrace as she let go once more. “Draco!”

“Oh, hell yes, Narcissa!” He shouted, sharing her release. He seized against her, pressing her head into the arm of the lounge. His lips peppered her shoulders and neck with kisses as his balls contracted. Bliss...

Her fingers raked through his hair - a mother’s gesture of comfort twisted slightly. “Gods, son...”

He pushed up onto his elbows, thumbs stroking her temples. “Alright, mum?”

Narcissa closed her eyes. He was softening inside her and she felt the liquid product of their lust leaking onto her fine furniture. “I’m fine. I think.”

“Look at me.” Reluctantly, she opened her eyes. His were soft and heavy-lidded, exhausted by their coupling. “No regrets?”

And she didn’t have to be his mother to know he possessed the innocuous, tender ego of any young man. So she licked her lips and tried a smile. “Of course not.” And her body certainly had no regrets. It wanted to curl in his arms like a cat and purr for days.

But her brain was screaming, “Flee!” So she pushed gently at his sticky shoulders. “Let me up, please.”

“Where are you going?” She felt his sweet reluctance to part and it hit her heart like a gentling wave.

She stroked his jaw, then bent to gather her mussed dress, pulled it up to cover her nakedness. “I’m going to my lavatory.”

“Can I come with you?”

Facing away from him, she grimaced. “I’d like to...tidy up, Draco.”

“I’ll wait for you, then. In your bed.”

“Draco...”

“We should talk.”

She whirled in the doorway, an expression of disbelief on her face. “ _Now_ you want to talk. After...” She sighed into her mussed bangs. “Do what you will, son. As always.”

She left him sitting perplexed on the lounge, his shirt dangling from rather numb fingers. He looked at the cushion beside him and curled his lip. Drew his wand from betwixt the cushions. Cast a scourgify. “Women,” he muttered. He tugged his clothes on haphazardly and left for her bedroom.

Narcissa slammed the door to her bathroom shut and drew herself a bath. “What in the world just happened?” she thought as she pulled off her wrinkled dress and let it fall to the floor in a heap. As she climbed into the bath she could feel the pain between her legs. A dull ache reminding her that her son had just fucked the hell out of her. She pressed her hand against her centre as if that would somehow make everything go away. Instead she felt a mixture of their come.

Closing her eyes she sank into the hot water and leaned back against the side of the bath as the water rose around her. "I'm going to fuck your brains out," he had said. And he very much did. He hadn't raped her. No, she could have stopped him. He hadn't been gentle with her but she’d loved it, hadn't she? Coming on his cock twice and letting him come inside her. Her moans and cries of pleasure had echoed in the drawing room. Even though she had gotten off so many times before to the thought of him taking her, she still felt somewhat used.

Draco stood on the other side of the door and could hear her turning off the taps. She’d raised no wards. He rested his hand on the door’s elaborate latch. He could turn it, join her in the bath, force her to speak, to understand. But what would that truly accomplish?

He sighed and approached her bed. It was simple in its comfort; a soft down duvet, piles of feather pillows and a cashmere throw. He turned down the blankets and retired to his own lavatory. In the shower, he thought.

_I fucked my mother._ He lathered his hair.

_You wanted to fuck her. It was killing you._

_Yes, I know. But perhaps I should have...gentled her into it. It was rather sudden._

_It was rather fantastic._

_No argument there._ He spluttered water as he rinsed. The hot, hard spray pelted his tense shoulders and back. _But she’s still my mother._

_The way she sounded...cried your name...her tits...the way she felt coming..._

He slammed his fist into the wet tile wall. “Shite,” he hissed. He was hardening again, the heat of the shower and his thoughts pumping blood into his eager young cock. He dried off briskly and wrapped the plush towel low on his hips. He combed his hair, watching his careful part in the mirror over his sink. He was brushing his teeth when he noticed the scratches curling over his shoulders.

He froze, toothbrush clamped between frothy, full lips and turned slowly. Bright red welts culminating in moon-shaped punctures decorated his back, neck and even upper arms. “Hell,” he murmured. _She’s a fiery thing._

_Indeed._ He spat in the sink and wiped his mouth.

_You could have her again._

His cock bobbed at the thought. _I believe I will. And perhaps a bit slower this time...if she’ll let me._ He made his way down the dim corridor back to her bedroom still clad in only his towel. Sex or not, his body longed for hers already - for the feel of her skin pressed against his. He feared she would be quite an addiction.

Narcissa climbed from the tub and pulled the towel from the hook on the wall. Wrapping it around her she picked up her wand from the vanity and flicked it at the tub. The still bubbly water vanished instantly and she turned back to the counter. Placing her wand back on the marble surface she leaned towards the ornate mirror hanging over the sink and looked at herself. _Lines. Far too many lines._

Standing up straight she grabbed a bottle of lotion she had bought on an impromptu trip to Paris months before and applied it liberally. On her face, down her neck and arms. She dropped the towel and continued further until she reached her hips. Light bruises and welts were beginning to form around her hips and between her thighs. Narcissa placed the cap back on the lotion and ran her hands carefully over her lower body. It hadn’t been his fault, not completely at least. Truth be told, she was glad he had found her behind the curtains. Glad he had kissed her and made her his. Twice. Although she still felt sick, physically and mentally. _A twisted, deviant mother I am._ Sighing audibly, she kicked the towel to the side for the elf to pick up later and pulled on her dressing gown. 

 Opening the door of the lavatory she saw her son sitting towel-clad on her bed. “Draco”, she said, tugging the sash of the dressing gown more tightly around her body. “I assume you are here to _talk.”_  Her voice dripped with perfected sarcasm. She watched him, sitting there with an unreadable expression on his face.

He stood, his towel slung far too low around his body. She could see angry, red lines running across his back from where she had scratched him. Narcissa let her mind wander, wondering what it would be like to run her hands over his muscular body as she rode him. How she could trace that fine line of hair with her tongue from his navel to his cock. Her debauched thoughts were quickly cut off as she realised that he had been saying something.

“...what I mean is...” Draco paused and turned toward her. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“Draco,” she said his name again.

He shook his head. “No. Please, let me finish.” Taking a deep breath, he continued. “It’s wrong this. Us. I know that. If anyone were to find out, whatever is left of our reputation would be ruined.”

“Yes, that and -- “ Narcissa said before being cut off.

“And a son is supposed to love and respect his mother. Not fuck the hell out of her and make her upset?” Draco asked.

Narcissa nodded. “And,” she said, finishing her sentence, “I wish we would have talked about this before we...” She let the sentence trail off, replacing it with silence. 

“I just hope you don’t feel like I took advantage of you,” Draco said, breaking the silence.

She stepped towards him, shaking her head, “No, no I don’t feel like that.” Draco wrapped his arms around her tiny frame and pulled her close in an attempt to comfort her - although as a son or as a lover, he wasn’t quite sure.


	3. Encore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When dark desires come to light behind the curtain, the stage is set for surreal sensual drama most deviant...and defiant!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Co-written with the wonderful Mrs. Milfoy. Many thanks to Insights for all of her help. Also posted on fanfiction.net.

They slept in their own beds, like good little Malfoys. Well, truthfully, they tossed and turned in their own beds, each denying that the other haunted their most deviant dreams and caused stains on their Egyptian cotton sheets. They rose and broke fasts together, smiling plastered smiles and discussing the Daily Prophet’s latest dose of drivel. Sometimes, they joined each other in the library or drawing room for a game of wizard’s chess or to listen to the wireless. But mostly, they avoided each other.

 Draco decided to take his NEWTS from home - Hogwarts’ latest offering to students who’d fought in the Final Battle and Headmistress Minerva McGonagall’s first attempt at progressive magical education. So he read a great deal and threw himself into studies. He ignored the memories of his mother’s hot breath in his ear, the puckering of her ros

y nipples, her cunt clenching hard around his cock...

 He groaned and dropped his head into his hands. His quill continued scribbling an arithmancy equation. The erection in his trousers forced him to his feet and to his room’s massive window. He stared out at the grounds below, at the witch who didn’t know she tortured him with her very presence.

 She was surrounded by peacocks. The birds loved her and she didn’t seem to mind them. In fact, she cooed at them and let them eat from her hands. She’d even named a few.

 Draco couldn’t help smirking. She was fussing at them over something, but they couldn’t be arsed. They nudged at her hands with their beaks and crowded about her legs as she tried to have a relaxing constitutional. She was truly beautiful in her light blue cotton frock. One shoulder was exposed by an errant strap hanging down her arm, and a waist cincher shoved her breasts to the edges of both her frock and his sanity.

 She wore her hair loose and free and it swept around her back in gentle curls when she moved amongst the birds. Her smile was easy and free, but it evaporated when she turned and saw him in his window.

 Too late to look away... Awkwardly, he raised a hand to her. She blushed and raised one back. He swallowed down dark desire and turned from the window. A whish of his wand dropped the heavy silver hangings and hid her away.

 Narcissa swatted absently at a bobbing bird head. “Stop,” she commanded. The animals obeyed.

 She was bothered by her son’s behavior of late, more regretful than ever of what had occurred between them.  _Should have expected this. We’ll never be a normal mother and son now._  She wandered around the manor to the front entrance, using a quickly muttered spell to brush Japanese maple leaves from their stoop. She had a feeling she would have tea alone again today.

 _Do I disgust him now?_ She buttered a scone in the sunny parlor and wondered.  _Perhaps the reality of what we did is setting in and he sees me as I am: his old and worn down mum. It’s for the best..._

So why did it make her feel so empty and wanting? Why couldn’t she shake the memory of his sinewy thighs flexing between her own, his filthy words and the long, satisfying slide of his cock inside her eager heat.

 She slapped a spreading knife to the table and dropped her head into her hands.

 “Cold tea?”

 Her eyes snapped up in surprise. “Draco!”

 He sat across from her, snapped a white serviette across his lap. “Mother.”

 She gathered her wits. “I’m pleased you’ve joined me.”

 “Are you?” He prepared his cuppa, barely glancing at her.

 “How go your studies?”

 “Fine. Thank you.” The clink of his spoon in his saucer. His spreading knife against the sides of the jam pot. Finally, he spared her a cool glare. “Fix your frock.”

 “What?” She looked down, blushed when she caught his reference. Her fingers were shaking as they pulled the wide strap up onto her shoulder. She was strangely cowed by his disapproving tone. “I’m sorry.”

 “And your hair is getting in your tea. You should put it up like you used to.” He looked back to his halved scone, trying to deny the complete arse he felt. He was slowly turning into his father.

 She was quiet. He could feel her eyes on him, waiting. Then she spoke. “Anything else I can do to make my presence more tolerable to you,  _Mr. Malfoy_?” Her chair whined as she pushed back from the table. “I disgust you now. I suspected as much but you make it quite clear. I suggest we reach an accord regarding this issue, Draco, because we will both live in this manor together for some time to come.”

 “Fuck, mum.” He sighed and rubbed his eyes, propped his head on one hand. “I’m sorry.” The strain in his voice was evident and embarrassing. “I’m trying very hard here.”

 “Trying very hard to  _what_?” She snapped. “To be an insulting disrespectful pillock? Then you’re doing a fine job, I assure you.”

 “Dammit!” He rose suddenly and she gasped when he nearly tipped her chair. “I am trying mightily not to hit you right now,” he spat into her face. His hands squeaked on the spindles aside her head. “Or fuck you. Either way.”

 Her jaw clenched and nostrils flared. She didn’t meet his eyes, but her chest rose and fell a little faster. “Nothing stopped you before,” she whispered.

 “Don’t push me.”

 “Don’t threaten me!”

 “Threaten you?” He leaned even further into her space. She tensed when his breath brushed her lips. “It’s not a threat, witch.” His teeth snapped and she flinched. “It’s a promise.”

 “I know you, son,” she nearly whimpered. “You wouldn’t hit me.”

 His eyes slid over her trembling lashes, high, pink cheeks and the tiny quirking line by her lips. “You’re right,” he said softly. “I wouldn’t.” His lips fell on that line - just nudged it. Offering, not taking. It was her choice.

 And she made that choice. “Draco,” she whispered his name against his lips before the kiss overtook them both.

 And overtake, it did. Like a wave breaking their mouths crashed together. His hands came to cradle her jaw as hers fussed at his shoulders and collar. Their tongues met and mingled while they tried to breathe through the kiss. Draco straightened and pulled her with him til she was flush with his taller form. He bent awkwardly and her hands hit the breakfast table either side of him.

 “Mother,” he murmured. He squeezed her arse and she surged against his groin. “Narcissa...” He was forced to sit upon the small teak table, his bum upsetting a fruit tray. It may have been clotted cream seeping into his trousers...

 She moaned into the kiss and commenced climbing onto his newly produced lap. “Let’s just stop trying to stop.” Her fingers were working at his trousers and his were rucking her skirt up over her hips.

 “Are we doing this here?” There was mild wonder in his voice. In answer, she shoved him to the table and popped the stays on her waist cincher. “Oh.” Draco went speechless and she adjusted herself over his erection. Her instant wetness told him she’d obviously foregone knickers that day.

She leaned over him as she started to take him in. A strange calm settled and Draco caressed her shoulders, stroked the straps of her frock down her arms to nearly expose her lovely breasts. “Draco?”

 His eyes - barely open - slid up to hers. “Yes?” He was trembling, wanting her seated fully on his cock.

 A very slow, calculated smile spread across his mother’s face. It was...almost frightening. “I’m about to fuck your brains out,” she promised. Then she shoved him backward for leverage, impaled herself on his cock and watched in great satisfaction as his head lolled over the opposite edge of the table and his eyes slammed shut on a groan.

 They displaced the tea service. The silver clanged to the floor. A cup was heard to shatter as she posted on him at a trotting gait. “You feel so good, Draco.” Her own eyes drifted shut.

 For his part, Draco was trying to hold onto sanity. He reached up and fully freed Cissa’s breasts, whinging when he saw them bounce in time with her pace. She was tighter than he remembered, or maybe it was just the position. Either way, he was starting to believe her statement. Reality was dissolving into a shimmering haze of hard, unforgiving lust and his brain may well have been melting, as well.

 After a few minutes of torturous steady ride, she leaned forward - a bit like a jockey - and increased her pace to a full gallop. “Please,” he begged. She chuckled, one hand slapping onto the table by his head and the other disappearing beneath her skirt. Draco seized when he felt feminine fingers form a sinful ‘v’ around his cock. And whatever she was doing with those fingers was tightening her cunt exponentially. “I - I can’t!” He gasped.

 “Can’t what?” She growled.

 “Shite! I can’t last,” he admitted. His groin burned with his restraint.

 “S’alright,” she breathed calmly. “I’m nearly done with you.” With that, she dropped to her elbow, the free hand shoving his head back over the table edge as she bore down on him like a hungry harpy, grunting and roaring her release into his neck.

 Draco’s back strained. His hips arched into the contractions around his cock. She milked his essence and his sense at once. He snarled against her carelessly clutching hand, turned out of the palm to breathe. “Gods,” he groaned. The pleasure was nearly pain. When his hips crashed back to the table, fire crept around the base of his spine. “Hell, mother...”

“Mm-hm.” She kissed him sweetly. “I suspect it awaits us.”

 “You...” He couldn’t form a cogent sentence.

 She slapped his cheek affectionately with the same fingers that had earlier vexed him. “Let’s go to my bed,” she murmured, rolling off the table edge onto rather wobbly legs. “The day is still young.”

 Draco swung his own legs over the table and winced at the shards of pain traveling up his back and sides. “Young?” He cracked his neck, rubbed it. “Perhaps  _you_  are. I think I need a pain potion. Ow!”

 She smiled and stepped into his loose embrace. “I’m sorry, darling.” She pulled his cheek to her lips, kissed the red mark there. “Come along. I’ll give you a rub-down.”

 Well,  _that_ sounded nice. He let her tug him to their destination, all the while holding up his trousers and trusting his fate to Eros’ hands


	4. The Curtain Falls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When dark desires come to light behind the curtain, the stage is set for surreal sensual drama most deviant...and defiant!

_Have her chambers always been this far away? We should get a smaller manor. Maybe even a shack. Is she swinging her hips?_ Draco’s eyes were practically glued to his mother’s backside as he followed her up another set of stairs. As they passed one of the floor to ceiling mirrors that lined the corridor he saw her turn her head and smirk at him. Practically grinning as they passed, raising one of her already highly arched eyebrows at him. As they neared her rooms Draco wasn’t sure if he should be excited or worried.

  _Finally!_ He followed her into her rooms, passing through her sitting room and into the bedroom. She waited for him to enter and closed the door with an echoing ‘click’. She turned to face him, the devious look still on her face. Walking closer to him, Narcissa splayed her hands across his still buttoned shirt and pushed him towards the bed.

 Draco’s legs hit the bed and he sat down, running his hands up the back of his mother’s legs until he reached her arse and pulled her on top of his lap. He angled his head up toward her’s and she kissed him. Softly, gently this time unlike before. He could feel her hands move, reaching for the buttons on his shirt. She began unbuttoning them, slowly. One by one and then running her fingers down his chest to his groin.

 Narcissa ran her hands lightly over the fabric which still covered him. Teasing him and sucking on his lower lip. Draco grasped her wrists and pushed them out to the side like he was pinning her against an invisible wall. “Not yet, darling,” he whispered as he released her arms and grabbed her arse once again. He lifted her up and turned around, deposited her on the bed.

 He looked at the sight before him. His mother, his gorgeous mother spread out before him. Hair messed, skirt up to her hips. Her skin was flushed and she looked positively decadent leaning back on her forearms and elbows.. Stripping off his shirt he climbed on the bed and began to roughly undress her.

 A few floors below the front door to the manor opened. Lucius Malfoy - the man of the house - stepped through the doorway and the door swung shut behind him. He looked less than aristocratic to say the least. Hair in loose, greasy ringlets, smelling like dementors and death. His family name might be ruined but his money was still good enough to secure an early release from Azkaban.

 He walked up the stairs and cast a quick homenum revelio as he did. _Good, they’re home._ He would be a nice surprise for them, or so he thought. Making his way through the many corridors of the manor he felt calm, settled. Lucius headed towards Narcissa’s chambers, longing to see her. It may have been an arranged marriage but he’d learned to love her, and she him. The door to her sitting room was open and he took this as an invitation, not that he considered himself the type of person to need an invitation in the first place.

 As he drew near the bedroom door he heard something. Pressing his ear against the door he could hear her muffled moans. _Gods, was she getting off?_ He smirked, a proper welcome home for him. A fleeting image crossed his mind as his hand reached for the handle. She’d be on her bed with only a few candles lit that would allow him to remain unseen in the shadows. Her hand would be between her pale thighs, stroking herself.

 Not being able to bear it any longer he silently turned the handle. He stepped into the room, the plush carpeting absorbing the sounds of his steps and, as he had imagined, there were only a few candles lit. He stepped back farther into the shadows and took in the sight before him. Narcissa was on her bed, on her back; but, it was not her hand between her thighs. Where Lucius had expected to find her delicate fingers, he instead saw platinum blond hair.

 He looked again. Platinum hair connected to a skinny pale body, trousers barely covering the person’s arse. _It can't be! Not my son!_ What would his son be doing fucking his wife? Lucius looked at the scene again, more wide eyed than before. He watched Narcissa run her fingers though the person’s blond locks. "Mmmmh, yes! Draco, darling!" Her voice hit a higher note on the last word.

 Lucius leaned against the wall in a feeble attempt to stand upright. It _was_ Draco.  _My disgusting son worshiping between his mother's legs!_ He watched as his son ran hands up his wife’s body, groping at her breasts as his mouth continued to work her centre. Lucius stood in the shadows, repulsively mesmerised and watched as Narcissa clutched the duvet, instinctively pressing her groin against their son’s mouth as she came.

 Draco pulled away from her and sat back on the bed, wiping his mouth in the process. They smirked at each other. Narcissa sat up and moved towards him. She pushed him back on the bed and straddled him, her long, tangled hair cascading down her back as she began to ride him. Lucius sneered. It was only too obvious they had done this before.

 Narcissa ground her hips against his while Draco thrust back against her. He ran a hand through her hair, tugging gently as he did so. He could hear her breaths turn into short, soft gasps and he knew she was close. He moved his his other hand between them and stroked her clit, feeling her walls clench around his cock. Her head lolled on lax shoulders. Eyes fluttered closed. Bowed mouth - swollen by kisses - opened on a plaintive mewl. He came only moments later and pulled her close to him. “Do you realise how utterly beautiful you are when you come, Cissa?” Draco whispered to her.

 “Indeed, darling.” They heard a familiar voice say. “You do look rather divine when you come,” said Lucius as he stepped from the shadows. “Although, normally,” he paused as he neared the bed, “it’s while you are under me. Not on top of our son.”

 “Lucius!” Narcissa hissed as she scrambled off of Draco and under the covers.

 “Ah, yes,” Lucius said as he reached the side of the bed. “You _do_ remember you are married. Well done, Narcissa”.

 Lucius’ eyes fell on Draco who had attempted to cover himself with one of the pillows that had managed to stay on the bed. “Draco,” he said as if addressing him at Kings Cross after a year at Hogwarts. “What an entertaining show you both put on. Yes, quite the performance indeed.” It was his turn to smirk.

 Narcissa swallowed. “How much did you see?” She asked quietly.

 “Well,” Lucius started. “When I arrived home I thought I might find my wife waiting for me. So I went to her rooms and she was there. What I did not expect to find,” he said, “was my son between her legs, making a meal out of his mother.” Narcissa and Draco said nothing, so Lucius continued. “When I realised what was going on I thought it rather odd. Here I was expecting a proper welcome home from dreary Azkaban and instead I find myself the unwilling witness to incestual copulation. Although, by the way you were...going at it,” Lucius sneered, “I’m rather inclined to believe this is _not_ your first time together.”

 Draco and Narcissa looked at each other and then back at Lucius. They slowly shook their heads like two children who had been caught frolicking in mud puddles before supper.

 “That’s what I thought” Lucius said, leaning his walking stick against the wall. Casually, almost as though these situations occurred with regularity (and perhaps they did among older pureblood families), he cast his rather dingy travelling cloak across the room. The elf could bother with it later.  Sighing heavily, he produced a surprisingly simple rigid wand from his frock coat’s sleeve. He used it to summon a sturdy leather chair while unknotting his cravat. His shiny dragonhide gloves made a menacing squeak as he worked the spell.

 Draco tensed beside his mother, not liking this turn of events despite their seeming innocuousness. He’d always been a strikingly insightful boy...

 Lucius sat in the chair. He unbuttoned his elegant if dusty coat and relaxed, staring at the pair on the bed. They swallowed and twitched nervously. “Draco.”

 “Yes.”

 “Yes, what?” Lucius narrowed his eyes.

 Draco’s lip curled. “Yes...father?”

 “Did you seduce your innocent flower of a mother?”

 Narcissa’s nostrils flared. “Lucius -”

 “I wasn’t speaking to you, witch.” Lucius barely cut eyes to her. “You’ll be reminded of your place soon enough.”

 “Father, you won’t -”

 “How dare you presume to know my mind in my own house, you petulant whelp!” His wand fell sharply against the arm of the chair, and he visibly reigned in a bright, flare of anger. He didn’t miss Narcissa’s hand settling on Draco’s wrist. She was right to cuff the boy. “Not to mention in my own bed.” He chuffed softly. “I suppose I should be strangely pleased your whore of a mother hasn’t taken some stranger to her thighs. So, Narcissa?”

 She was shaking ever so slightly, though oddly Draco felt no fear in her aura. “Lucius. Please.”

 “Please?” He leaned forward, intrigued. “Lovely word. Please. I like it.” He considered this situation with purposefully dramatic facial expressions, knowing the suspense was eating away at his errant family. “Well, I’m _not_ strangely pleased. Draco. Narcissa?” He spread his hands expectantly. “What am I to do?”

 Neither of them answered. Lucius could see the fight or flight rationale unfurling on his son’s features. His wife, however, appeared accepting of a fate. In fact, if he wasn’t mistaken in his memory, the witch was probably looking forward to a certain fate. “You simply must be punished.”

 His son snapped. “We’re not children! And you won’t touch my mother.” His skinny arm stretched across Narcissa’s form.

 Lucius gestured lazily, gracefully with a still-gloved hand. “ _Your_ mother. _My_  wife. Semantics. Son...we both possess this witch. Do we not, Narcissa?”

 Her lips pursed. She couldn’t argue the technicality of his words, and she was too naked and shamed to try, anyway.

 A subtle motion of his long-fingered hand. “Come here, Narcissa.” Lucius drawled.

 Resigned, the Malfoy witch removed her son’s arm from its restraining position. She looked to him for understanding, and he looked to her for permission. His steely eyes clearly said, _I’ll kill him._ But Narcissa shook her head gently, stroked his cheek. “Draco,” she whispered. “He’s my husband. And your father.”

 She stood on somewhat shaky legs, pulled a mussed cashmere throw about her bare body and approached Lucius with downcast eyes.

 The patriarch regarded her patiently. “Why be modest now?” He nudged the hand clutching the throw with his wand tip. “Drop it.” She did so and his eyes raked her form. On the bed, Draco tensed. Lucius noticed and raised a hand to him. “Move from that spot,” he growled warningly, “and _she_ will be the one to suffer. Understood?”

 Draco settled back, helplessness pinching his face.

 Lucius dragged a finger firmly from between her breasts and over her belly. At the thin glossy down over her cunt, he paused and drew away. She shuddered. “You look as lovely as ever, darling.” He shifted in his chair. Patted his knees. “Over, please.”

 With no argument, as if following an old routine, Narcissa bent obediently across her husband’s lap. The passionate objection came unsurprisingly from the Malfoy offspring. “Hell no!” He shouted. “Father! Don’t do this.”

 Lucius raised a brow at the boy and simply moved aside the hanging curtain of his wife’s hair. “Narcissa?”

 “Leave it, Draco,” she murmured, unable to meet his eyes.

 “Mother...” Almost a whimper.

 Lucius looked between the two briskly. “Is this settled?” He asked. Not waiting for a reply, he added, “Excellent.” His right hand held aloft his wand, and with a whispered spell, it shimmered and morphed into a sleek black crop. The round leather fob at the end whistled as he gave it a test stroke through thin air. Draco heard his mother take in a shaky breath. At the following heavy ‘thwack’ against the chair, she mewled a bit.

 “Now, Draco.” Lucius spoke as he traced torturously delicate designs on the rounded pale globes of Narcissa’s expectant arse. “Your punishment shall be to watch your mother’s punishment.” The designs deepened til the dragonhide was leaving light red trails across her skin. “If you move from that bed, I shall make you both regret the action most grievously. Am I clear?”

 Draco’s neck tightened. “Crystal,” he spat through clenched teeth.

 So distracted by the conversation were the disciplined Malfoys, the first blow of the crop was entirely unexpected. Narcissa yelped, and the combination of leather against skin with her exclamation had Draco turning away.

 There were two more sharp, quick slaps before Lucius paused to examine his work. Cissa’s arse was striping nicely, and he massaged it. “You always were so eager for discipline, wife. And I always did enjoy your propensity for acting out.” The massage stopped, and three more slaps permeated the air. “However.” Now Lucius massaged more firmly, even spread apart her quivering pink cheeks. “This may be your finest transgression yet.” Narcissa sniffed. Three more slaps. “I hardly know how to effectively punish you.”

 “Please, father,” Draco spoke.

 Lucius looked up, surprised. “Why, Draco. I forgot you were there. Can I help you?”

 “Please, father,” he repeated. “That’s enough.”

 “Enough?” Lucius laughed. A true, deep ringing laugh. A flick of the crop saw it shift back to a wand. “Come here, Draco.” At the boy’s hesitant headshake, Lucius smiled. It was a devilish splitting of the man’s handsome face. “I said come here.” Narcissa whimpered, and Lucius slapped her arse gamely with his hand.

 Draco stood by his mother’s head, body shaking with anger, uncertainty and a shameful amount of deviant lust. “Yes?” He whispered.

 Lucius snatched his son’s hand so quickly both the boy and Narcissa jolted with fear. His bare, clammy fingers were plunged between his mother’s legs. “Feel that?” Lucius hissed. “ _That_ is what punishment wrings from your mother!” He smirked at his son’s stunned gape. “Seems you are not alone in producing this witch’s wellspring. Do you suppose you do it better than I?”

 Draco jerked his sodden fingers back and stumbled back toward the bed, an expression of shock on his face. Lucius ignored this and placed several more hide-handed slaps onto Narcissa’s bum. Her fingers clutched her husband’s ankle and the leg of his chair. He didn’t stop hitting her until she finally gasped loudly. In midair, his hand froze.

 Draco trembled against the bed, naked and semi-erect. Narcissa gasped for breath across her husband’s lap, dewy with sweat. And Lucius showed his first signs of cracking formality. “Get up,” he instructed. His hoarse voice quavered.

 Narcissa nearly stumbled. Draco caught her and held her against him. He nudged her chin up and scanned her watery eyes. “Mother?”

 “I’m fine, son.”

 “I do hope you don’t call her ‘mother’ while you fuck her, Draco.” Lucius intoned. “How...provincial.” He was removing his frock coat. “You never answered my question.”

 Draco was slowly moving to stand before his mother, as if to protect her. “What question?”

Narcissa climbed onto the bed, an arm curling over her son’s shoulder and around his chest.

 Lucius stood, toe to toe with his son. They were a near exact match in height, Draco perhaps a midge taller. He felt his mother swallow against his shoulder. “I asked if you supposed you do it better than I. You never answered.”

 “B- better?” Draco stammered. Surely his father wasn’t proposing...

 “Well, let’s find out, shall we?” Lucius snatched the curling feminine arm from his son and pressed his wife to their bed. She cried out, but showed no struggle.

 “Don’t hurt her!” Draco grabbed his father’s arm.

 “Hurt her?” Lucius’ lips slowly formed a promising grin. “I wouldn’t dare.” The arm Draco held shoved the young wizard aside. “Watch and learn, pup.”

 Draco’s eyes shot desperately to his mother’s only to find them closed. She was already arching toward her husband’s body and her son couldn’t help wondering why. _Why is she so eager for a man who just beat her when she was so sweet earlier atop me?_

 The answer to this question began to reveal itself when Lucius insinuated his clothed body between his wife’s legs and shoved her further up the bed. He knelt then, urging her thighs wider with insistent fingers. She whimpered at the feel of coarse, slick dragonhide tickling but not touching the junction of her legs. “Husband...please!”

 “Does she beg you for it, son?” Lucius asked, not looking at Draco. His forefinger finally slipped swiftly through the slick folds of her cunt and she coiled into the touch as though burned.

 “Yes!” Narcissa shouted. Draco leaned bonelessly against the bed’s thick cherry post. He could only watch, and truthfully, didn’t _want_ to look away.

 Lucius watched with a vaguely distant coolness as his finger thrust in and out of his wife. Seeming bored with her squirming and whinging, he added another finger and angled his wrist. “There, I believe,” he murmured distractedly.

 Narcissa growled like a dragon in heat and reached for Lucius. “Lucius! Sweet goddess, please!”

 “Please what, wife?” His fingers slowed.

 She thrust against them, desperate. “Please make me come,” she begged. “Please! Fuck me!”

 He chuckled as he withdrew his fingers. “Me, Narcissa? Your husband?” He wiped his gloved fingers on her quivering knee. “Is it my cock you want now? Have you missed it?”

 Draco’s bollocks ached. His own hardness wept at the sight of his mother wet with sweat and a streak of her own glistening lubricant. He listened to her supplications, heard her telling her despot of a husband anything he might wish to hear...

 “Yes! Yes, Lucius! I’ve missed you. Now, please -”

 Lucius’ hands drifted to his trouser placket.

 “Don’t you dare.” Draco’s voice - strengthened again - stopped his father’s disrobing. Lucius surprisingly obeyed. Cocked an eyebrow at his son.

 “Well, well, well. Demanding _little_ dragon.” Lucius’ gaze fell on Narcissa, then slid back to his son. They stared at each other, silently challenging.

 "On second thought," said Draco. "Why don't you go first?"

 Lucius raised a brow at him. "Oh?"

 "Yes, you go first father. Then I'll show you how it's properly done."

 Lucius' nostrils flared as he glared at his son. "Might I remind you, _son_ , I am half the reason you are here," he said, beginning to remove the rest of his clothes. "Judging by your earlier performance, I'd say you have quite a bit to learn." Almost as a second thought, he glanced down at his wife. “Gloves off, Narcissa? Or on?”

 “I don’t care!” She reached for him yet again, and Lucius surprised her by tugging her roughly to the edge of the bed.

 “I spent quite a few dismal evenings in Azkaban thinking of this moment, Narcissa.” He teased her swollen opening with his cock - thicker perhaps than Draco’s, but neither man could deny a definite ‘family resemblance.’ “Too bad the two of you had to fuck it up so royally.” He slid into her in one smooth motion, groaning as he did. “Oh, Cissa...that’s tight.”

 He remained standing, thrusting leisurely into his wife, hands - still gloved -  tightening on her knees. It was obvious his control was tenuous at best, long months of abstinence pressing precariously on his thread of stamina. And perhaps it was only to distract himself from the looming threat of premature orgasm that he looked askance to his son. “Well, boy?” He rasped.

 Draco tore his eyes from his heaving mother to his leering father. His jaw tightened. “By all means, father.” He scrambled across the bed, eager to show his youthful agility and his mother’s willingness to bend to his every wish and desire.

 He slid against her first, cupped her head and kissed her. “Narcissa,” he whispered. “You’re beautiful right now.”

 “Oh, Draco.” She shivered as he explored her with gentling hands.

 “Come on.” He urged her up the bed so that they could stretch out together. She seemed to have no need for foreplay, however, and her legs wrapped slickly around Draco’s thighs as he plunged deeply inside her. “Gods, you feel good,” he murmured into her neck.

 But if Draco had hoped for lazy and intense lovemaking, he was to be disappointed. The witch beneath him pitched against him in a quest for her pleasure. “Harder, Draco!”

 His face reflected several emotions; a sort of resentment toward his father for making her this way, a fervour to please her, a scowl of distraction. He couldn’t seem to focus, knowing his father’s watchful eye was lingering somewhere around the area of his pumping bum. But the heavenly clasp of the cunt around his cock lured him to a state of bliss. He obeyed his mother’s command and thrust harder, felt her tightening exponentially. “Will you come for me, Narcissa?” He asked softly.

 “Not that way, she won’t.” The snide comment poured from Lucius, perched lazily across the foot of the bed.

 Draco growled. “Ignore him.” Narcissa’s lips closed over his earlobe. “It’s just us now, darling.”

And that sounded just lovely, really. He moaned into her shoulder. “So good, Draco...”

 “Rather bland, I’d say,” Lucius offered. “Shall I add a bit of flavour?”

 “Sod off, _Lucius_!” Draco snapped, trying to regain his lost rhythm.

 But Lucius only chuckled and crawled up the bed. “Away, spawn,” he waved Draco from Narcissa like a gnat and readjusted the witch onto her side. She groaned at the loss of her son’s hardness, but gasped when her husband slid inside her from behind. “Mmmm,” Lucius moaned into her neck. “Remember this?”

 “Yes!” She cried, turning her head to catch Lucius’ bottom lip between her teeth. He responded by cocking her leg over his hip, opening her lewdly and deepening his penetration. “Ah!” She shouted and grappled with the tangled duvet, seeking purchase.

 She turned her head back to Draco who was sitting on the bed, looking up at him as Lucius pulled her hair. "Draco. Here," she moaned as Lucius continued to pound into her. Raising an eyebrow, Draco moved toward her not quite sure what she had in mind. Narcissa reached out for his hips and brought him close to her face.

 Her head was slightly unsteady, the product of Lucius’ impassioned pistoning. But the way she moaned and whinged around his cock was... “Oh, fuck, Narcissa...” Draco’s head dropped back, making his exclamation a guttural grunt.

 Lucius took in this recent activity with a curled lip. He tugged a bit harder on his wife’s hair, seeking to re-acquire her sole attention. Draco’s hand stopped Lucius’ wrist. “Let her go,” he said.

 Surprisingly, Lucius complied, perhaps merely curious to see what his son would do. “Very well,” he rasped, settling the hand instead on a quivering breast.

 Draco soothed where Lucius had seethed. He stroked his fingers softly through his mother’s hair and cupped the jaw that worked his cock. “Still, Narcissa,” he murmured. He held her head at that odd angle and took over the work her neck strained to accomplish, fucked her mouth firmly. He kept a remarkable pace with her breathing and enjoyed the exclamations his father’s rather brutal pounding caused.

 So the witch liked it rather rough. Draco had known that the first time he’d taken her, had seen the abandon and the reckless pleasure on her face in their roughest moments. But there was nothing wrong with peppering that beastly lust with the occasional loving touch. So he worshiped her now even as he filthied her mouth - drew his fingers slowly down her sweating body, past his father’s groping fingers, over the delicate hill of her belly to the swollen, protruding part of her that made her formidably female.

 As soon as Draco’s curious digits contacted her insidious orifice, Narcissa arched and bucked. The dual sensations of cocks and hands threatened her very sanity and she wasn’t sure if she sought to escape or settle in. For the moment, she closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing and the sinful curl of ‘close to coming’ in the deepest well of her being.

 “Draco.”

 Draco looked up to meet his father’s rather rabid gaze. “What?” He practically spat. His bollocks ached severely at the moment, and his father’s recent snarkery was unwanted.

 “Make her come, boy.” Lucius grimaced and it became all too evident he was not much longer for this ride.

 But neither Draco nor his mother required too much in the way of encouragement. Draco pinched her clit harshly, slapped at her cunt when her whimper became a growl.

 “Come for us, wife,” Lucius hissed. He swept aside a shank of her wet hair to look at the face eating his son’s cock. “Come for me...and drink your son’s seed.”

 Her eyes closed and her body seized. Draco felt the quiver in her thighs and recognised it. Her teeth scraped him just enough to jolt him further into her throat and then the suction was too much. Her choking, her arching, his father’s slap on her arse...

 Draco unloaded with a shameful, proud and uninhibited cry. He stumbled, too - knees weak from the position he’d held these last minutes and head swimming. Drunk on orgasm’s chemical spill. He was strangely grateful when Lucius caught him with a strong, unforgiving arm.

 “Up, pup.” The Malfoy patriarch managed. The men steadied against each other then and Narcissa watched in hazy wonder from beneath them as her husband’s hands tightened on her hip and Draco’s shoulder. She recognized the drooping jaw and rolling eyes on Lucius’ face as he pumped his last sporadic thrusts, emptying his bollocks inside her.

 It was an expression she hadn’t witnessed for some time, and one that nearly matched her son’s at that same moment.

 A sudden wave of disgust rolled in, eddied in a stormy tide of shame, bliss and exhaustion before rolling back out to sea. It left behind a silvery silt of sickening fulfilment. She sighed and dropped into the pillow skewed beneath her head. They were completely insane - the lot of them. She knew this. Deviant and damned but damn...those men...

 They were hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the Curtain Call series! Many thanks to Insights for her help. Co-written with the wonderful Mrs.Milfoy.


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